


Siblings

by Dormammu12



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Erotica, F/M, Guillemard's Syndrome, Pregnancy Except Without That Nasty Business Featuring Babies and Birth, Sibling Incest, Some Plot, Students
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormammu12/pseuds/Dormammu12
Summary: Okay, sure, so maybe their relationship is a little bit unorthodox, but they make it work, and that's what counts, right?
Relationships: Derek Shi/Jacqueline Lee (mentioned), Peter Foo/Jocelyn Foo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. a wedding and a quick fuck

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome. Most of my stuff is on dA, and you can find the rest of it here: linktr . ee / dormammu12

Peter slid his jacket over his shoulders and buttoned his cufflinks. He glanced to his right, then at his sister, who was beckoning to him, her skirt snug around her hips, breasts spilling over the top of her lacy black bra, her belly a round, pale thing, obscuring the triangle of her panties from view. “Come on,” she whispered. “They’re still changing. Help me zip up this fucking dress.”

Jocelyn had always been something of an exhibitionist.

“Have you even put any makeup on yet?” Peter complained. He shut the door gently behind him and palmed his sister’s ass. “You should do more stretches. Stop being so lazy.”

“And you should stop complaining.” Jocelyn tossed her hair over her shoulder and sent Peter a distinctly unamused look. With practiced ease, two long, pale arms slid through her dress and shrugged it over her shoulders. “I can get my makeup done in five minutes.”

“You said that the last time, too,” Peter teased, and grabbed her ass again. “Have I ever told you that you should model maternity wear?”

“Hundreds of times.” Jocelyn slid free of her brother’s grip and sashayed towards the bathroom. “Come on, don’t you want to watch me put on my makeup?”

“Think I’ll wait on the couch downstairs, actually.” Peter stuck his tongue out and opened the door. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he took the steps two at a time and headed into the kitchen for a cup of water. Jocelyn came down, eventually, a lollipop in her mouth, one of her hands pressed into the small of her back. Peter knew that look; Jocelyn liked to pretend that she was more fragile than she actually was.

It was a short drive to the church; Jocelyn tapped away on Instagram and Snapchat as Peter stared out the window and toyed with his MP3. It was an old model, his MP3 - less than fifty bucks, and still going strong after three years. The walk to the church was quiet, as always, but filled with the familiar, significant spaces between words; light, fleeting touches. Peter loved it when Jocelyn played coy.

Meeting family was always very formulaic. There were a lot of greetings to get through. Pete had just finished shaking his granduncle’s hand when he spotted a black car rounding into the car-park of the church. He nudged Jocelyn on the shoulder and tilted his head at the car.

Jocelyn got the message. “Dad, they’re here.”

Peter slid his hands into his pockets and waited. He could stare at Jocelyn all day. She had a certain smell, he was quite sure; or perhaps that was one of her perfumes. Was that one of her butterfly earrings? He thought so. She’d put on a little bit of blusher today…

More greetings were exchanged. The parents of the groom were radiant; red packets exchanged hands. There were a few clarifications on the layout of the church, and Peter’s parents duly thumbed the necessary buttons on the lift. “I’ll take the stairs,” Peter offered, and his granduncles and grandaunts twinkled at him, as if to say, _What a respectful boy_. He smirked at Jocelyn. “Coming with?”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but waved to her parents and the assembled elderlies before making her way to the stairwell, where Peter was waiting. They ascended the stairs in silence, before emerging into the main hall of the church. There were a few people tuning up at the front, warbling prayerful hymns and fiddling with tambourines, acoustic guitars and the like - standard fare, really. Jocelyn made her way to the pews, followed by Peter. There were always a few stares when someone like Jocelyn entered the room. It wasn’t just because she was an objectively stunning human being - there was also the matter of the swollen orb of her stomach, pushing out the front of her dress.

“Thought you were wearing the ankle-length one this morning,” Peter remarked.

“That’s for tonight’s dinner.” Jocelyn seated herself carefully on the wooden seats, wriggling her pert little bottom into the wood with a sigh, and removed her phone from her purse. Peter remained standing, craning his neck for a sign of their parents and the assorted elderlies before tapping Jocelyn on the shoulder and jerking his chin at a bunch of people entering the hall.

“Hello! Are you guys Charlotte’s relatives?”

“We’re Nathan’s cousins,” one of the girls said. There were three of them - one of whom was a bit older than Peter, one of whom was his age, and one of whom was a bit younger. “Are you -?”

“Nathan’s cousins. On his mother’s side.” Jocelyn grinned and stepped forward. She’d always been more outgoing than Peter, more able to put people at ease, although her grades certainly had never been as good as his. (It wasn't like there was any competing going on, anyway.) “I’m Jocelyn. He’s Peter. We’re twins. Are you all -”

“Sonia, Isabel, Eleanor.” There were a few quick handshakes. Peter spotted his father and nodded at him, rolling his eyes - _It’s okay, Jocelyn’s just making some new friends_. His father nodded back, curtly, and turned his attention back to manoeuvring the elderlies into the benches without toppling them over or giving them a stroke.

“Which schools do you guys go to? Me and Peter go to Heron.”

“I just came back from NYU. I’m doing design.”

“We’re in AC.”

“Ah, cool!” Jocelyn nodded animatedly. “Are you in the same class as Peyton Neo?”

“You know her too?”

“Yeah! She performed at a concert in August. I met her. She’s pretty cool! Has she performed in your school before?”

Peter forced his lips apart and set his teeth together in what could charitably be called a smile. Small talk had never been his forte, but Jocelyn, on the other hand, was a natural. By the time everyone else had arrived, she'd managed to exchange Instagram handles with all three cousins, and had to be dragged away from the conversation by her trustworthy, handsome and capable brother. "Oh, fuck off," Jocelyn whined, face scrunching up in annoyance, and Peter shook his head. "I got a little carried away, sure, but I'm not _that_ stupid." "The ceremony's starting in five minutes," he pointed out, warm air ghosting over his sister's ear. "You're not exactly quick on your feet."

Jocelyn’s shoulders tightened at the warmth; twisting her lips, she elbowed him, lightly, and sat down, pale arms adjusting her skirt to make herself comfortable. Before long, she was on her feet again, phone out of her purse once more to record the happy couple as they made their way down the aisle - Nathan first, and then Charlotte. The ceremony dragged; it was nothing to write home about. Vows were exchanged, hymns were sung, speeches delivered. There was a brief photo-taking session, and soon both of them were downstairs, falling into step alongside Sonia, Isabel and Eleanor, Peter tailing behind.

“Yeah, so it’s a medical condition,” she was explaining, leading them to the buffet. Peter had heard this story before. In fact, he’d heard it the first time it was told, back when they were both thirteen and Jocelyn’s stomach was still flat and nicely defined. “It’s called Guillemard’s syndrome. It’s a buildup of amniotic fluid in my womb. It’ll come back even if I drain it out, and the drainage procedure is a yearly thing that’s really painful. So… it’s, yeah, it's pretty inconvenient.”

_There’s a bunch of other stuff_ , Peter did not say. _Have you told them about how you don’t have periods? Have you told them about your infertility?_

“So, what sort of design work do you do?” he asked Sonia. “Architecture? Advertising?”

“Event management… arranging tables, making it easier for people to move around, that sort of stuff.” They made their way back to the table; Sonia’s younger siblings were still chattering away happily with Peter’s younger sister. “Consulting with artists, installation work… that sort of thing.”

“Oh, really? Have you done any pieces in Singapore?”

“Yeah, in AC. Heron’s got an art gallery too, I think." Sonia paused, waited for Peter to confirm her point with a short, sharp nod, and continued. "I’m pretty sure they’ve taken my installation down, though - I left the school ages ago. Anyway, what I do is -”

\-----

_Picture #1: Jocelyn and Peter, smiling the camera, one on either side of the happily married couple, standing behind their parents and the other occupants of the table_

_Picture #2: Jocelyn and the three cousins, arms around each others’ waists, laughing; a faint reflection can be seen in the mirror behind them; Peter took the photo_

_Picture #3: Jocelyn, one shoulder raised, a hand on her hip, stomach thrust out dramatically, gazing at the camera_

**Liked by** natalie.khoo, laurenl **and 90 others**

**fymjoy** wishing my cousin and his beautiful wife best of luck in the years ahead!!!

**Tagged:** wrongsonz, fyrpete, izzyw, ellynggg_

**26 June**

\-----

“Hey, Pete!” Benjamin waved at him. “You coming with?”

“Nah,” Peter replied, dropping his jaw so that his voice would carry. “I’m going out for lunch with the folks. Sorry.”

“Hey, no worries. You coming for prom?”

“Always, always. I'll see you soon - let's meet up for a movie or some shit, yeah?”

“Definitely.” Down the stairs he went, rushing to catch up with his sister, and into the train station, slipping and sliding between his fellow schoolmates to be the first to the platform. Jocelyn was there, waiting for him, surrounded by her friends - Felicia, Natalie, Lauren and so forth. They were pleasant enough, but at this point in time, Peter really only had eyes for Jocelyn. He caught her eye as he approached, and she turned towards him, grinning. “So," she asked, "how was it?”

“Doable,” Peter replied, shortly. “Question fifteen took me a while longer to solve.”

“And you got the other twenty-nine easily enough, yeah?” "Well, we won't know until next year." The rhythm of conversation quickly expanded to include him. There was some talk about a guy stalking Natalie - Jocelyn had confided to him that she reckoned Natalie was still bringing it up because she had little else to talk about - after which Felicia asked him what he intended to do after this final gauntlet of exams. Peter rehashed his plans; a few of them expressed awe at his foresight. Jocelyn wrapped one hand, carelessly, artlessly, over his bony shoulders, and something deep in Peter’s subconscious purred at the sensation.

Away Natalie and the rest of the group went, off to lunch and a movie and probably a spot of bowling. As the doors shut behind them, Jocelyn bit her lip, leaning - ever-so-slightly - into Peter. They were, after all, in public; no one knew how they were related, but there were still limits on how intimate they could get while still in uniform... even though they wouldn't be in uniform for much longer. It was their last day of school, and Peter, for one, couldn't wait. “Natalie’s getting chunky, isn’t she?”

“Don’t be rude,” Peter chastised, though there was no heat in his words. “She’s not in Trug anymore; she can afford to let herself go a little.”

“Still…” Jocelyn looked up at him, brushing her swollen stomach against the back of his hand. “She has a gym in her house, Pete… a gym! It would be criminal to just let it go to waste.”

“I’m sure the gym wasn’t installed solely for her.”

The doors buzzed open; Jocelyn pulled them out, their fingers still loosely intertwined. Her hair was still bound up in a ponytail; as Peter watched, she untied it, let it fall loose. “Still,” she was saying, “you know how fattening the American lifestyle is. She’ll be twice her weight in no time if she really gets in to Wharton.” They made their way down the road to an imposing building, all concrete and glass, four towers hemming in a well-designed vista of trees and carefully directed water features. Peter tapped his card at the entrance; the guards let them in. “Peter and Jocelyn Foo,” he said, in lieu of a greeting. “Parents have a membership.”

Jocelyn continued talking as she changed, tossing her blouse at a basket as Peter watched, and squealed when it disappeared into the container. “Well done,” he offered, sardonically. Jocelyn, her monologue interrupted, squinted at him, briefly, before resuming. Her underwear was sensible today - beige and plastic, covering her breasts in their entirety - and her fingernails left angry red marks on the dome of her belly as she worked the band down to assess the damage. Her skirt was kicked to the side; with a long-suffering sigh, Peter gathered the clothes in his hands and dumped them into the basket. Their clothes would be washed for them; that was one of the services that this establishment offered, and it was one that Peter was very grateful for.

She was still in her bra and panties when he emerged from the bathroom, fidgeting with her hair. Peter quirked an eyebrow, wiped his hands down on his jeans. “Aren’t we going out now?”

“I thought we’d celebrate the end of exams,” Jocelyn hissed, eyes glinting, and tackled him onto the bed. His pants were half-buttoned; Peter shrugged them off and pulled off his shirt. Her stomach ground into his abs, and as Peter stared up into her eyes, he noticed that her pupils were blown wide open with arousal. His pupils were probably in much the same state. Jocelyn pressed one finger into his chest as she bore down. “I’m thinking of painting my nails pink, this time,” she mused, voice low and throaty. “What do you think?”

“Pink or red, what’s the difference?” he managed. With one hand, he took her panties off and dragged a hand over her; within moments, he was inside. Jocelyn rode him one, twice, three times, straining the structural integrity of her bra as her breasts heaved and bounced, pulled along by the frenetic movement of her torso, mouth half-open in ecstasy. He finished at about the same time that she did; then, she was topping forward, her weight pressing against him. Her hair smelled like jasmine.

They lay there for a while.

“There _is_ a difference,” she said, reproachfully, some time later, cloaked in a bathrobe that was undone at the front, as Peter ordered room service for the two of them. “Pink is girly. Red is ostentatious. I was feeling confident in September, that’s why I went for red. Pink is more - you know - party-mood.”

“We’ll have prom first.” Peter set the phone down and regarded her, leaning back in his chair, the tension gone from his shoulders. “Hasn’t anyone asked you yet?”

“Oh, yeah, a few, maybe. But it’s really about the sort of signals I’m giving off.” Jocelyn shrugged. “I’m flirty, but showing up at prom with a guy is all about long-term commitment. Jacqueline and Derek can go together, because they’re an item and have been since last year.”

“So you’re showing up on my arm, then?” Peter’s voice was still quiet, but the words themselves carried a hint of teasing.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Jocelyn tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear; she’d tied her hair into a bob after taking a quick shower. “We’re long-term, aren’t we?”

Peter leaned back against the pillows and gazed out the window at the scenery. “Yup.”


	2. flashbacks here and there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> link tr . ee / dormammu12

There was something that turned him on about it - his sister, this wild, spontaneous creature, constrained in uniform. Their school uniform was drab khaki, but on her it somehow gained a sensual pull, a sexual warp and weft as the fabric stretched obscenely over the overfull curve of her gut, sagging under its own weight.

“What are you looking at?” Jocelyn asked.

She turned to look at him. He could see the fine bones of her neck reflected in the mirror, right where her collar parted, and beneath that the barest hint of cleavage. It sucked that none of Heron College’s uniforms could fit her - she was practically bursting out of even the largest blouses and skirts. Oh, of course it sucked. It was terrible. His parents had written many letters.

“Oh? Nothing,” Peter said. “Nothing at all.”

She looked him over, eyebrows furrowed, and turned back to her dresser. Peter checked his watch. Her ass sank into the cushioned seat - he could see it, faintly, as it pressed against the material from the other side. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking - Jocelyn liked her clothes to be just that little bit tighter than absolutely necessary.

“Did you hear from Noelle?” his twin sister asked. “She’s fucking terrified.”

“I skip past all her messages as a rule,” Peter replied, and checked his watch again. “We’re going to be late.”

“Shush,” Jocelyn chided. “Seriously? Whatsapp _and_ Telegram?”

“Yes,” Peter sighed. “Whatsapp _and_ Telegram. I have better things to do.”

“And we are _all_ extremely thankful,” Jocelyn drawled. She went over her lashes one more time, smacked her lips in the mirror - Peter clenched his jaw - and rose to her feet, that vast, swollen khaki mound leading the way. “No, but - well. I’ll tell you when we get to class.”

“Is it that serious?” They exited their bedroom together; it occupied the entire top floor of their parents’ four-storey house. Jocelyn thumbed a button and folded her arms over her belly, tapping her foot impatiently on the wooden flooring. Peter glanced at his watch again. “I’m going down first.”

“It’s pretty serious,” Jocelyn continued, as Mom dropped them off outside the station. Peter closed the car door behind them as his sister strolled indoors, picking up the pace to catch up. She was waiting by the gantry, shoulder blades working as she tied her ponytail. “He tried to follow her home.”

“That does sound serious.” Peter raised an eyebrow, following her down the escalator as she nudged commuters aside with her protruding middle, his slim black bag bumping against his spine. “Hold still. Your water bottle - did you take it with you?”

“Did I?” Jocelyn checked her bulging sling bag, fingers dancing over its contents, and shrugged eloquently when no flask was forthcoming. “No, I didn’t. I’ll just share yours.”

“Fine.”

The doors to the carriage closed. Jocelyn rolled her shoulders, propped her ass against the railing. Peter took out his phone.

He had never been quiet about his utter lack of interest in Jocelyn's friends before, but this was different. This was, quite possibly, criminal. This he duly told Jocelyn. "Yeah," she agreed, idly scratching at her stomach with one hand. "Yeah. You wanna put Derek on it?"

Derek? Derek was… yeah. Derek was the sort of guy who'd go for something like that. Jacqueline wouldn't mind, either. "I'll let him know." A pause. "Who's Noelle been shacking up with lately, anyway?"

Jocelyn dipped her head down into her chest, glaring up at him. "First, _rude_. Second, Elle is a free spirit. She's not 'shacking up' -" here she hooked her fingers in the air to add inverted commas - "with anyone. So she's just going to have to rely on schmucks like you and Derek to defend her honour, yeah?"

"Why don't you just go and threaten that guy?" Peter couldn't even remember his name. All he could muster was a vague recollection of glazed eyes and permanently hunched-over frame. “It’s not like he can do anything against you. Anything physical will get him expelled. Why do you need us to intimidate him?”

"Because that's not gonna dissuade him." Jocelyn rolled her eyes, flounced out of the carriage. Peter followed behind. "God, do I have to do all the thinking around here?"

\-----

Jocelyn’s face was red and blotchy when she flung herself into their mother’s car. “What happened?” Mom asked, aghast.

“They kicked me out of the track team,” Jocelyn mumbled. “Said I won’t be able to run… given my _condition_.” She ran her hands through her hair, ponytail dissolving as her hair tie went into her pocket. “I hate this _thing_ , and apparently I haven’t even started to get big yet.” She’d abandoned her sleeveless blouse and dress in favour of her track uniform. Peter glanced at her, at the expanse of creamy white leg that jutted out from her short black shorts, and then above, at the striped singlet doing a shoddy job at protecting her modesty.

_The first growth period is always the worst_ , Dr. Lee had told them, because _the skin is stretching. Once it’s stretched - once the liquid has been drained a few times - your skin will remain stretched and successive growth periods will be much less painful_. Perhaps Mom and Dad had remembered it; perhaps they hadn’t. Peter had remembered.

Mom was talking. No doubt it was something consoling, something smooth and balmy and kind. But Peter doubted that his mother understood the enormity of the situation. Jocelyn loved to run; she’d loved running since she was a child, leaving Peter gasping in the dust on the small two-hundred-metre track not far from their home. Jocelyn Foo had been the undisputed queen of their primary school, reigning haughtily over the whole motley rabble from her position at the head of the track team, bolstered by Dad’s money and Peter's post as Head Prefect. This was tantamount to tearing away her entire identity and leaving a gaping hole in its place.

She slammed the door viciously, scratching savagely at the angry crimson marks that had popped up across the pale creamy surface of her belly. “Be careful,” Peter told her, as she stormed into the house in front of him, nose picking up sweat and the unmistakably salty scent of tears. “Come on, Joy. Come on. Let’s.”

She whipped around, face red, the same agonizingly beautiful girl whom he remembered from kindergarten, the same heartbreakingly gorgeous child who had kissed him for the first time when they were both ten, on their birthday, on the fourth floor of the house, the door closed, the two of them alone in the dark. For a beat Peter panicked. For a moment he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that Jocelyn would open her mouth and tell her parents about what they’d been doing since they were seven or eight, and that one of them would be sent to live with their uncle and aunt on the other side of the island -

But no such things came out. Jocelyn’s mouth snapped shut and she bounded up the stairs, the straps of her bag bouncing with her, and Peter watched as she went. “Something wrong?” Mom asked.

“No,” Peter said. “Nothing’s wrong with me. But I don’t like that Jocelyn is unhappy.”

“None of us do,” Mom sighed.

\-----

He found her in her room later that night, when both their parents had gone to bed. Jocelyn had sat through dinner in silence, picking at her food and going up early. Peter hung around downstairs, reading through his math notes until his parents called it a night. “Finished your homework?”

“Go away,” Jocelyn said, but there was no heat in it. There was, rather, a sort of resignation in her tone, an emptiness.

"I can't go away," Peter said. "I sleep here." The fourth floor was split in two; only their bathroom and study were shared in common. He sat down on the mattress, feeling it sink under his weight, and leaned against her prone form. Quietly, he continued. "Don't go shutting people out. You're just starting out here; 's not like your entire career is ruined. Back at Pleiades, they'll still remember you as the best sprinter they ever had."

"I hate that I can't change it," came the miserable reply. There was some sniffling.

"Move over," Peter whispered. "I wanna lie here with you."

The door was closed. No one would see. Jocelyn rolled over, the slight bump of her tummy revealing itself like the sun coming over the horizon. She snorted. "You're a regular Jim Milton."

"Did I say that out loud?"

"'Sun cresting the horizon', my ass." Jocelyn smiled wetly. "John Milton, sorry. His name's John Milton."

A silence now fell between the two of them, their faces inches apart. “Whatever happens,” Peter said, very quietly, “we’ll handle it together. The two of us.” He reached out, hand trembling, and intertwined his fingers with his sister’s.

Jocelyn stared at their hands. Then she held up a finger and heaved herself into a sitting position.

Peter kissed her, on the lips. It wasn’t like their previous kisses, brief and fleeting and tinged with warmth and concern and soft young affection; this one was hot, passionate, and Jocelyn returned it with relish. _We’ve both watched way too many romcoms_ , Peter thought to himself, as his younger sister (a couple minutes younger) wriggled beneath him, eyes rolling back into her head with pleasure. His hands gripped onto her waist, finding purchase on the scratchy material of the singlet, back curving around the small round ball of her womb. There was a faint sensation of disgust as he felt a leak down there, in his underwear, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of Jocelyn against him, Jocelyn’s lips against his, Jocelyn’s tongue inside his mouth -

“You’re a natural,” Jocelyn gasped, breaking free to inhale sharply into the quiet.

“Thanks,” wheezed Peter, pressing his lips to her jaw, and down, down, down, along her neck, exploring the maze of fine bones at her throat. A frisson of excitement; Jocelyn’s fingers danced up and down his back, leaving little dappled tongues of fire where they came into contact with his bare skin.

Peter let go of his sister’s waist, pulled down his pants and his underwear, struggling with the hem of her little black shorts. That is where we leave them.

\-----

“Hel _lo_. Earth to Peter?”

Peter blinked, uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel. Jocelyn was staring at him, one hand pressed to her cheek. With her other hand, she patted him on the arm. “What were you thinking about?”

He’d switched the engine off; the car was starting to heat up. Peter opened the door and came around on the other side to open the door for his sister, buttoning up his jacket. “Nothing,” he said, grunting as Jocelyn used him as a prop to heave herself out of her seat. She’d grown so much since their first time. “I was just wondering… we’ll have to christen the house at some point, no?”

Jocelyn squinted at him as they looped their arms in each other’s. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Every single room,” Peter murmured, into her ear, and smiled at the way the fine, barely-there hair on Jocelyn’s arms pricked with arousal. “The basement… the theater… the wine cellar… the balcony…”

“Good morning!”

Peter broke eye contact with his sister. There was an older man approaching them, walking his Golden Retriever. The dog trotted up to them, panting, and Jocelyn - after glancing at the fellow briefly - patted it gently on the head. “So good to see some young blood in this neighbourhood; I’m Jeremiah. We live just across the road!” He gestured at a compound some distance away, wreathed by greenery. “And you are?”

“Peter and Jocelyn Foo. We’re -”

“Oh, it’s obvious! And I see you’re expecting a bundle of joy?”

Peter flushed. Jocelyn did, too, even as she took over the flow of conversation. “Well, it’s a long story, Jeremiah - may I call you Jeremiah?”

“Oh, of course!” agreed the old man blithely. The Golden Retriever wagged its tail. “You’re certainly big; I don’t recall my wife being so huge, not even before she gave birth to our twins -”

“It’s great to meet you, sir,” Peter interrupted, pulling Jocelyn gently by her arm, “but I’m terribly sorry, we’ll have to go. We’re just looking around, honestly -”

“You’re so _rude_ ,” Jocelyn gasped, as Peter locked the door behind them. There was an automatic gate, but it hadn’t quite been set up yet; vast charcoal walls rose up around them, shielding their new property from the prying eyes of pedestrians, passing cars… or snooping neighbours. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if he went around and told everyone on this street how rude we were! I’ll have to go out and smooth all their egos because of the good you did.”

“You will, won’t you?” Peter pulled her close, into his arms, and swept her up into a bridal carry, arms screaming in pain. As she yelped and giggled, he pressed his thumb to the panel and exhaled as the glass doors slid open and the cavernous interior of their new mansion revealed itself, lights flickering on row by row. “You’ll have to apologize for your rude _husband_.”

He deposited Jocelyn on the couch, kicking off his shoes and receiving a pair of little pinpricks in his chest from her heels. She smiled against his mouth, coming up for air only to gasp, “When do you think we should tell them that we’re related?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Peter grunted, undoing his belt and throwing it to the side. “Until then…”

Jocelyn knew. “Constant vigilance,” she whispered, that thin thrill of excitement rippling down her spine as the tendons of Peter’s neck tightened. “Until then… weren’t you saying something about a christening? I was thinking we could start here."


End file.
